“I love the sheep,” he went on, “but I will be honest, on very warm days, if the wind blows just right, we have to close up the window because sheep are smelly little buggers.”
I cackled and discreetly wiped a tear away. I had no idea why I was so emotional looking at these pictures. I longed for something I couldn’t let it dream of. I saw myself writing in that office. I felt the warm breeze blow in through the window to ruffle my hair. It was such a detailed fantasy it felt more like a memory.
I couldn’t even give that daydream the slightest bit of hope. This was the ultimate fantasy my little brain would latch on to and spin into something that would only ultimately break my heart.
“These pictures are less fun.” He cleared his throat. “From the funeral. Ah, this was the private jet Emma and I took. I thought maybe you’d like to see it. I don’t normally, uh, fly that way if I have to travel but it was last minute and everything.” He scrolled through pictures of a luxurious plane and Emma smiling sadly at the camera. The next was a picture of him and his two best friends, away from everyone else, heads bents as they held on to each other. A tiny huddle of comfort. It caused another blur in my vision.
“There’s not a lot from that trip,” he said gruffly.
I hugged him so tightly that my arms shook. “God, I wish I could have been there with you.”
His chest hitched before he said softly, “You were in some ways.”
He sniffed and continued through a few more people I didn’t recognize, and then he was back home and more pictures of his chickens.
“Lots of chicken pictures, Duke Chickenston,” I teased lightly.
“I’m a proud papa,” he said. “Look at those beautiful eggs they lay. Every day. It’s impressive.” He pointed to a basket of speckled eggs.
“Aw, is that sweet Freddy?” I asked when he stopped on a picture where a chicken was stuck in a crust of bread.
He nodded and kept swiping. “Sweet, little idiot.”
Any disappointment I felt before I joined him in bed was long gone. Sex would have been amazing, but this was so much more special. This was making love in an entirely more intimate way. My chest tightened with overwhelming emotion.
As he swiped through one picture, I jumped. “Wait, go back!”
“I sent this one. Remember?”
“No, I know.” I laughed and grabbed the phone from him. “But look. Did you know this when you sent it?” I zoomed in to show his chest in the reflection that had sent me spiraling.
Based on how the color drained from his face, he had no idea he’d done that. “Bloody hell,” he whispered. “I swear I didn’t know.”
I handed his phone back and grinned. “I know. Man, Pete lost his mind over that one.” I rolled my eyes.
“Did he see?” His face hardened.
“No. I found it later when I was studying it.”
“Liked that, did ya?” Features softening, he chuckled warmly.
I hid my face into his chest and groaned. “I may have pulled it up from time to time.”
“Oh really?” He was grinning cockily when I sat back to look at him.
He needed to know what it meant that he shared himself with me. I grabbed his warm hands in mine, setting down the phone momentarily.
“It’s all so wonderful,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His throat moved on a thick swallow.
I lay back on my new favorite pillow in the world, his chest, with a contented sigh.
“Kate?” he asked. “I want you to come see it.” His deep voice against my ear was a caress. His heart thumped against my cheek, and I felt him shift slightly to look at me.
“I want you to meet the kids and Agata. I—would you like that?” he asked, and his voice wobbled.
It was as though I’d stepped into a pool of sunshine on the first warm spring day.
